


Nobody Else But You

by savant (teii)



Category: Marvel (Comics)
Genre: Character Death, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 04:16:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1884828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/teii/pseuds/savant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aunt May might be the one gone, but Peter is the one acting like a ghost.</p><p>My half of the fic-art trade with pennkoad!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Nobody Else But You

**Author's Note:**

> I had the absolute pleasure of working with the super talented pennkoad for this art-fic trade. The work is on tumblr [here](http://pennkoad.tumblr.com/post/90567526905/my-part-of-an-overdue-art-trade-with-teii-who), and you must go look at how beautiful it is!!! YOU MUST!
> 
> Edit: To my knowledge, pennkoad has deleted their tumblr. I don't have any verification if they still want their art up, so I'm operating under the assumption that they don't and therefore won't upload it, my apologies!

There was something wrong. 

Wade wipes his boots on the brick wall outside of their fifth story apartment before climbing through the window and into their empty apartment. He squints, ripping off his gloves and mask as he ducks into each room, looking for Peter.

Odd. He rounds the last corner, before spotting a light on in the bathroom. He pokes a head in. 

"Well, helloooo," he hums, "getting all dressed up, aren't we?" 

Wade didn't expect Peter to back away. "Wade! Um...you’re...back.” He sounds a little disappointed. 

Wade blinks. "Um, I guess I am? What's up? Where you going?" 

"Nowhere," Peter fires off a bit too quickly for Wade's taste. 

"Really now," Wade asks, crossing his arms as he leans against the door frame, "so...is this a sex thing? Are we going to have fancy sex now?" 

"It's nothing," Peter snaps, and Wade frowns. Something is wrong, if that response is anything to go by. 

"Peter..." 

"Wade, this isn't about you, ok? For once, something isn't about you, get over it." Peter bites, pushing past Wade with a hard shove, and Wade scowls, trailing after him.

"There's no 'walled-off, avoiding asshole' in team, Parker," Wade yells, "there's a lot of things that can't fit in 'team', but that one is especially--"

 "It's Aunt May." 

Wade stops. 

Peter has a hand on the front door, staring into the wood. He breathes in. Takes a moment to compose himself, swallowing heavily. 

"She..." 

"She's not at the hospital anymore, is she?" Wade quietly asks. 

"No." 

Wade starts walking backwards. "Don't leave. I've got an emergency suit I can throw on. One without any stains, cross my heart. Just wait five minutes--" 

"You don't have to go--" Peter starts, but Wade zooms off into their bedroom, the sound of drawers and closets banging open. 

\-- 

"She looks so peaceful." Wade wrinkles his nose, trying to ignore the itch on his butt as he listens in on a couple of woman in front of him in their sunday best, peering down into the coffin before moving away. 

Wade steps up. Looks. 

She just looked...dead. Face flat and cold and expressionless. It just doesn't... _look_  like her. His skin crawled. 

He doesn’t believe in a higher being, not with the way his life has turned out and the scars to prove it, but he says a quick prayer for May, and keeps one for Peter in his heart, clasps it in between his hands and tries to push it down.

For both their sakes.

\-- 

He finally asks. 

"Why didn't you say anything?" 

Peter grips the steering wheel tighter and waits three stoplights before saying: "You told me not to call you while you were working." 

Right. That.

 "But this is May. You should've...I don't know, texted or messaged or DMed or..." 

"It's fine." Peter says, not looking at Wade, sounding more like he was trying to convince himself of that. 

It's not. But Wade backs off and goes back to staring out the window. "I'm here. For you. Or whatever."

 "Ok."

 "I mean it." 

"And I believe you." 

The prayer flutters briefly in Wade’s chest, begging to come out. 

 _Not yet_ , he hums, _not yet_. 

\-- 

It's still not fine. 

Wade decides to take some time off as he refuses job after job, staying in New York with Peter. But it doesn't seem to help much as Peter has suddenly decided to do everything alone. Patrolling, fighting bad guys, groceries. Even getting take-out was a one man job and Wade found himself eating by himself every meal, cramming fistfuls of dry cereal into his mouth or eating an entire pizza alone. 

Whatever.

 "I'm busy," Peter would say, repeating it like a mantra, like a promise, like it’ll come true. And Wade nods, already knowing how futile it is to argue. He wants to yell at Peter, slam the table, just let him _goddamn do something_ but he can't make himself do it, not when Peter's so quiet. 

Not when he moves like a ghost from room to room, picking things up and putting them down just for the sake of something to do. Peter doesn’t even bother telling Wade to clean up after himself, just resigned himself into scrubbing their apartment until it shines. And when he’s done, the floors swept and mopped and waxed, Peter stares at him, as if waiting for him to spill something—anything, but Wade makes his way towards the garbage bin and shoves the rest of the chip bag in, staring at Peter the whole time. 

“You need to stop.” 

Peter turns, picking up a dishrag on the way and opening up a cabinet with their most expensive and fragile glass, the set Wade is forbidden to touch, and starts wiping them down, pretending Wade wasn’t even there. 

“There’s nothing to stop,” Peter says, hours later when Wade finally leaves to do god-knows-what, and when all the glass have been smashed on the floor and cleaned up as if nothing ever happened.

\--

He’s alone.

He’s been alone for five whole days.

He thought that’s what he wanted. He thought that’s what was wrong-- just Wade being there.

But Wade was never the problem, and now he has one hand resting on the man’s pillow and the other gripping onto the man's shirt. 

Like how he used to. 

\-- 

Wade comes back.

Peter lies awake in bed, hearing the heavy stomps soften as Wade reaches their bedroom. He buries his head further into his blankets and forces himself to still as Wade comes in. 

There's no blood, at least not any that Peter can smell. No booze or sex either.

It's just Wade.

The bed dips, and Peter tenses involuntarily, but Wade stays on his side, on his pillow, with his own sheets.

A first since they started sharing a bed.

Wade speaks to his back. Slow, controlled, and soft:

"I can wait. Take your time."

He drifts off to sleep not long after, leaving Peter still staring into the dark. 

\-- 

_“I wanna be loved by you, just you, nobody else but you…”_

“Hi.” 

Wade looks up. 

Peter’s in the doorway, all dolled up in a white tshirt and a pair of khakis. He’s holding two Vietnamese sandwiches, and hands one to Wade.

 It’s the first time in two weeks since Peter’s spoken to him directly. 

“…thanks.” Wade finally decides on, blankly taking the sandwich as Peter sits down right next to him. Peter unwraps his own banh mi, and takes a bite, leaning his head onto Wade’s arm. 

“Aunt May used to love this film,” he says, words muffled by the sandwich. And maybe something else. 

“It’s hard not to—there’s so many babes in this movie. Marilyn Monroe is pretty good too.”

 Peter softly laughs, and Wade’s heart picks up a bit, though still cautious. They watch the rest of the movie in silence, not even partaking in their usual quickfire commentary, and Wade breathes in and remembers all the little details again. The way he scrubs his face after every few bites, the way he tucks his legs in, the way his arm rests along his ribcage. 

The wet spots along his sleeve is a bit new.

“I went to see Aunt May today.” Peter confides in him.

“Oh.”

“Thank you. For the flowers, I mean. They’re beautiful. Well, i guess, were.”

Wade turns his head, “How--?”

“You thought it’d be poetic if you shower some of the petals onto the stone, but realized that sunflower petals don’t look that great, then had to buy a whole new boquet, huh?”

“It made sense at the time, Parker,” Wade groused..

And there it was, for a millisecond, a soft, quiet smile that immediately turns into a frown as Peter thinks about May again. 

But it’s enough to start.

Wade brings a hand to push Peter’s hair back. Peter looks up, watery and tired and pure, and in that moment, Wade knows his prayer has found a way to Peter.

_You will be safe and you will be loved and you will find a home in me._


End file.
